


A Broken Boy's Case Study in Red

by wolfsbanepunch (gavinsky)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Feels, Implied Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Poetry, Suicidal Thoughts, the angst really jumped out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 03:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavinsky/pseuds/wolfsbanepunch
Summary: Welcome to the burial ground of all my old (mostly Sterek) Teen Wolf poems I'd published years ago on Tumblr. So if you were in the TW fandom circa 2013-2015 you might recognize some of these. I'm posting these onto here because after I accidentally deleted my Tumblr a few years back, I was finally able to gather up most of my poetry posts and wanted them published on a secondary site for future insurance.





	1. A Broken Boy's Case Study in Red

**Author's Note:**

> S̶o̶m̶e̶ most of these poems are embarrassing and cringy but they were still written during a period of my life I wouldn't trade for anything, so sorry y'all you're going to have to deal with bad writing because I'm a sentimental fuck. I also decided to name this work with the title of the first ever Teen Wolf poem I ever posted online for anyone to see. All Tumblr links to the original posted poems, as well as the song(s) I had on repeat while writing each poem will be in the end notes for each chapter. I tried posting the poems in chronological order to the best of my fuzzy recollections. 
> 
> Now commence reading, reminiscing, and cringing <strike>a bit</strike> **a lot**.
> 
> [END SCENE ON DRAMATIC RAMBLING MONOLOGUE NO ONE CARES ABOUT]

There was a boy with a rabbit heart  
in his chest that fell in love with a man  
whose eyes were colored  
red like

embers  
in a house burned down with  
a woman's hatred, a liar's kiss, and  
the loss of a child's innocence

or like the hair of the girl you used to love  
who never gave you the time of day,  
who played the world like a game of cards  
(and sorry you just weren't in her deck)

or your friend's jacket,  
the one he was wearing the night  
you led him through the moonlit  
forest to the wolf's bite

like the blood of monsters and men  
spattered on your hands and dripping  
down your wrists and mixing with  
your own

or like the blood your mom used to spit  
up in the toilet bowl and flush away  
like it was nothing  
like she wasn't dying

red like your dad's shirt, the one he wore  
the first Christmas she was gone and  
he cried because there were no presents  
under the tree  
(medical bills are expensive,  
you know and so were funerals)  
and he cried because there was no wife  
under the mistletoe to kiss anymore

they were red like the crayons he'd  
colored with in the doctor's office  
while he listened to words like  
_"...hyperactive disorder"_ and  
the name of a medication that tasted  
funny in his mouth

and the broken boy with the rabbit heart  
and the hero's spirit didn't know why  
he loved a man with eyes the color of  
terrible things

except he knew that this was not  
a terrible thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _A Broken Boy's Cast Study in Red_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568571530)  
Most played song while writing this: [Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up) _Acoustic_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c90rtbTyUIU) \- Florence + The Machine


	2. "I missed  you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is arguably my most popular poem (at least it's the one with the most notes on it) and yet it's one I find that has the least substance to it. Probably because it can be applicable to a lot of tumblr ships since I've seen this tagged as "Dean/Castiel", "Mickey/Ian" and "Peter/Stiles"

**I.**  
_"I missed you."_  
You toss it to him,  
unexpected,  
but knowing he has  
the animal reflexes to  
catch it. It's half a joke,  
half something else  
and the way he look at  
you, means you both aren't  
ready to talk about it.

**II.**  
_"I missed you."_  
The words fall clumsy  
and bloody from your  
split up, bit up lips and  
you say it quietly; a secret  
like the bruises that are  
forming stories on your body  
and you want to thank him  
for keeping your heart drumming  
but you sink unconscious before you can.

**III.**  
_"I missed you."_  
It comes out in a wet gasp  
because panic is the venomous  
snake that has bitten you and you've  
got poison in your veins and he's got  
his hands clasping your wrists. He's  
telling you to breathe and slowly your  
shoulders stop shaking like electric wires  
in a thunderstorm. You wonder if he feels  
your tired, thankful smile on his neck?

**IV.**  
_"I missed you."_  
Breathlessly, you're tattooing the words  
into the hollow of his throat with your mouth,  
and by now he doesn't need to press his hand  
to your chest to hear your heart's  
truth. He can feel the honesty in your fingertips  
trailing down his face. He opens his mouth,  
voice raspy with lust; he's running nails down  
your spine and he's telling you, he's telling you:  
_"I missed you. I love you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _"I missed you."_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568578635)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Turning Page](https://youtu.be/4Cry85KUzzU) \- Sleeping At Last


	3. Laws and Fences (Among Other Things) Couldn't Keep You Away

_**i.**_  
he calls it his property  
but you wonder if he still calls it home  
and he tells you to leave  
but laws and fences couldn't keep you away

_**ii.**_  
when he tells you he's dying you wish you were  
microscopic so you could crawl into his wound  
and suck the venom from his veins  
and then make yourself at home under his skin.

_**iii.**_  
he presses you up against  
the bedroom door (your only escape)  
except you find another one  
in the shape of his mouth

_**iv.**_  
it's him in your car and it's him  
in your room and it's him tucking  
himself into your life that makes  
you whisper "thanks" to the moon

_**v.**_  
his eyes have gone from  
heaven's blue to the red of hellfire  
he doesn't meet your gaze anymore  
you press kisses to his eyelids

_**vi.**_  
you huddle in his leather jacket  
call it his very own super hero cape  
ignore the blood on the sleeves  
ignore that death wears this jacket too

_**vii**_  
he washes away  
the taste of medication on your tongue  
the flavor of your own weakness  
when he lets you take control

_**viii.**_  
he says "break it" and you don't say  
"i'll break myself too"  
his hand is brief and warm on your shoulder;  
he must have heard you.

_**ix.**_  
he presses a kiss to your wrist  
you flinch and remember that night  
but his mouth isn't a threat  
it's salvation

_**x.**_  
you've always been a kid made of worry  
and you'd tell him not to bring  
more of it into your life except you love  
the way his teeth worry at your neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the poems I've posted, I think this was always my least favorite. It was sloppy and didn't flow as nicely as I'd hoped, but it was also the third or second poem I'd posted so I was still learning. Still, I do like a few lines from this, thus here it is.
> 
> Link to _Laws and Fences (Among Other Things) Couldn't Keep You Away_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568515075/laws-and-fences-among-other-things-couldnt-keep)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Wild Horses](https://youtu.be/XeebtskeD_Q) \- The Sundays


	4. his hands grew tangled roots with mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do believe I wrote this after the first episode of Season 3 aired and the Teen Wolf fandom went wild because Stiles and Derek kept sharing _looks_ and there was a bunch of theories that they'd spent the summer together in some sort of romantic capacity. But alas, that did not happen because Jeff Davis is The WorstTM

_I fell in love with him in the summer but that didn't stop me from_  
_ breaking my hand so he couldn't hold it._  
_"Good thing you've got two," he joked and his fingers warmed my palm like a sunset._  
_It all started the night he begged me "Stop letting the moon kiss your soul,_  
_ I can do a better job." He was dusk bitten skin_  
_ always perfumed with chlorine and the switchblades of _  
_grass._  
_I was a body, invisibly marred_  
_stinking of old blood and family curses but he rest his head on my chest_  
_ anyways. He built himself a home in that beating thing behind_  
_ my ribs; that derelict heart of mine that had burned to the_  
_ground like_  
_a house on fire years ago. And he began to rebuild from the_  
_ inside out; a carpenter whose tools were his flushed words and_  
_ fevered touches._  
_ That summer, in the forest that knew me as both monster and_  
_man,_  
_ his hand grew tangled roots with mine.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _his hands grew tangled roots with mine_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568620040)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Overjoyed](https://youtu.be/mwAeY_7AsSE) \- Bastille


	5. "How can you love me when I'm a monster?'

We're in my bed, you've got your head resting on my  
shoulder and the sky has been swallowed by the night  
and my body aches and you're asking in the dark:  
_"How can you love me when I'm a monster?"_  
But no, I know monsters, like the one that  
devoured my mother. Put her to bed in a grave, tucked  
her in with a blanket of dirt. All after it sipped the  
goodness from her blood. All after it used her body to  
massacre itself, heart silencing heart, cells murdering  
cells. Or that cruel creature who painted prom dresses  
with blood, his fangs were the paintbrush. Left a girl  
in a field. Left her in a field in her nightmares,  
running away, being torn apart as the crowds  
cheered on and his niece cried in the stands.  
Spun her dreams for her, while pressing kisses to  
her tear slicked cheek. I know the monster that  
thought it was god and the monster with  
his murderous heritage written in history books.  
I've met the monsters with pretty faces that hid their  
dark nature behind smiles and halos.  
Here's a demon dressed up in angel wings.  
Here's the flower that shields the snake. You are  
not the flower. You are not the snake. You're the  
hero masked behind your flaws. You're the moon,  
waxing and waning your heart with smoke stained  
memories and destructive anchors. Matchsticks  
between your teeth and I know you've been drinking  
gasoline. Strike a spark with your teeth. I'm the spark  
and I'm touching your lips. A kiss like fire. A kill  
in water, red on your hands, my hand clean but not,  
on your shoulder. Touch to heal. Fuck to save. You're not  
a monster. I've taken their portraits, memorized their  
mugshots and you are not a monster. Let me wash  
your hands. Let my hands hold yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last year, a beauty blogger on Instagram actually asked to use part of this poem for one of her posts. 😭😭😭
> 
> Link to _"How can you love me when I'm a monster?"_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568846285)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Many of Horror](https://youtu.be/mAh--lH0H3U) \- Biffy Clyro


	6. The boy in his blue jeep with his scar tissued heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still remember when I was asked if this poem could be part of the [Sterek book](https://issuu.com/sinycath/docs/thesterekbook) that was published and I legit cried because I was so amazed that anyone thought my writing was good enough to go into a book available for sale.

The boy in his blue jeep with his scar tissued heart.  
His hands with wings,  
birds, angels, fingers fluttering hummingbirds against your skin  
and your bed is cold, he's not there, never has been but  
you're in his car and there's love in your mouth  
but you swallow it.  
There's trust in your bones but you shatter them.  
Suck out the marrow and spit it out. The taste  
sticks to your tongue. You're in a pool,  
sinking statue, his arms around your stone frame  
but you don't feel them. Paralyzed  
and it's what is saving you and wrecking you. Suck in  
air like nicotine and let it enflame your lungs. Burning,  
burning, always burning but running cold.  
You're in a getaway car but no, now you're in his room,  
a dictionary heavy as your goddamn heart on your lap.  
What's the definition of falling? How does one define hope?  


<strike>pale skin and fragile bones</strike>  


Look it up. Don't.  
Those are the answers you already know and are afraid of. You've got  
his scent on your skin and it feels like home. No, this boy is home  
and when did that happen? What's the definition of home? Don't look it  
up - just rip out the page from book and shred it. Remember:  


**[Home _n._ (/hōm/) 1.) home is a house on fire]**  


His hand on your arm. Don't let it sink you.  
His fingers on your shoulder. Let it anchor you.  
Tell him to run. Don't tell him to stay.  
God, you want him to stay.  
The boy in his blue jeep, a constant state of rising and falling  
how strange, the way it matches the pulsing of your heart.  
You want him to kiss your disgrace  
only he is too busy screaming in your face  
and you say, and you say, and you say,  


_"I am burning with blame;_  
_I am the skeletal frame_  
_of everything I once was." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _The boy in his blue jeep with his scar tissued heart._: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147568898770)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [And Then You](https://youtu.be/sEDQ3jEDm_g) \- Greg Laswell


	7. Suicide Letter to the Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Implied/Referenced Suicide

I'll start with: I'm sorry that my skin is yarn and  
so goddamn easy to unravel. I apologize for the  
shrapnel <strike>that can</strike> _that has_ torn me apart from  
the inside, from the outside. They are planes and  
I'm the final destination, and Houston, we have a  
problem....I'm sorry for the scars you have to see  
on my ragdoll flesh. They were patched up and  
sewed shut with red thread, and they formed  
words:  
_fragile_  
_burden_  
_useless, useless, **u s e l e s s**_  
I'd carve even more of my weaknesses into my  
skin...if I was still planning on staying in here,  
that is. I am a come hither finger cocked at my  
enemies. My soul is a sadist and I never even got  
a say. I am just a boy, trapped beneath skeletal  
prison bars,  
_(this jail cell is so easy to break out of)_  
caught inside flesh as malleable as clay. I am just  
a boy and now I am pulp. I am crushed. I am  
destroyed. Sorry for being a doll. Sorry for the  
breakable bits. Sorry that my hearstrings  
possess my only strength, and that they wrap  
around your necks  
_(like nooses)_  
and they'll still be choking you long after I'm  
gone. Sorry I am my mother's child, sorry I am  
not my father's son. I am the boy who tried to  
run with wolves, who fell behind with cut up  
knees and dirt in his mouth. It turned to mud and  
tasted like failure and I always spat it out. But I  
am tired and I have tried and I taste failure even  
when my mouth is clean. I am holding a bottle of  
pills in my hand. It appears I have fallen down  
the rabbit hole. I'm staring up at the entrance to  
Wonderland and these tablets are screaming  
_"eat me eat me"_  
and I wonder what would happen if I did. Didn't  
you know that curiosity killed the suicidal boy?  
_(Has anyone ever asked the moon what it feels like_  
_to slowly fade away...?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this poem when I was put on a new medication to help moderate my migraines. Well it did........but it also gave me the worst bout of depression I've ever experienced and my writing became angsty as fuck.
> 
> Link to _Suicide Letter to the Wolves_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148571548480/wolfsbanepunch-suicide-letter-to-the-wolves)  
Most played song while writing this: [Smother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c90rtbTyUIU) \- Daughter


	8. We're Brothers Now

He's but a lamb your mother would have brought home  
would have dressed him in wolf furs and said  
_"he's your brother now"_  
would have stitched his seams and gave him blood  
_"we're brothers now"_ so you took him into the woods  
and taught him how to be a predator  
how to howl like the world was on fire.  
You showed him the moon and the deck of cards  
she hid from everyone else. You told him  
_"monsters are real and sometimes we wear their faces"_  
and your brother knows the sun but you need him to learn  
that darkness is just the cloak terror wears. He's little lamb in  
wolf's clothing, baying at the moon. He's little brother  
who does not follow your footsteps but walks with  
hesitant limbs in front of you and he looks back.  
Alpha lamb that wears predator wolf as a second skin  
but doesn't forget the fleece underneath. He is your  
brother in blood and furs and he nips at your tail with  
fangs to remind you that a wolf can be gentle, can  
be glass spun and bathed in sunlight too. You are  
volcano, erupting. You decimate him with heat and  
fire and leave ash like a coat of paint and he doesn't  
say _"I hate you"_ but he should. And so maybe he bites  
a bit harder, shows a little more fang, a little less fragility;  
he's got your throat bared and you know you pushed  
him too hard, tried to shove out the child in him,  
tried to chisel away his naivety because he can't make mistakes  
when he is more pathos than logos. You say  
_"brother, I was like you once"_ and he bites your skin to  
see if he can find the softness there but you've become  
more machine than mammal. You're metal and wires  
and feelings diffused, a soul malfunctioned.  
You are the soldier with the broken heart on his torn  
sleeve and he is the civilian, wrong place, wrong time  
but he takes to fate like broken men to dream girls.  
You play at power like a child in his father's clothes  
and he plays Go Fish with the moon and he says  
_"got any eights?"_ and there's sibling envy  
that trails you in the trees but you chase it away  
like quarry. He is lion and rabbit,  
wolf and lamb. He is docile and dangerous.  
Tender tough. He is leader of the pack and he spits  
in the face of hierarchy and you are lone wolf, your body  
concave as a new moon's hidden smirk. Little brother  
who gives you a man's hand and saves you a spot in  
the sun. Little brother who is both sacrificial lamb in the  
water and hero with a howl in his heart. He, who was  
unwillingly bitten, rose like smoke uncurling its  
fist from a house fire. You, big brother,  
the shadow behind him, there to make sure he does not fall.  
_"We're brothers now."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _We're Brothers Now_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148571565275)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Wolf](https://youtu.be/sEDQ3jEDm_g) \- First Aid Kit


	9. he is not a god today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem inspired by the Season 4 finale.

he will confess to you that he's giving up  
show you the cut on his skin that won't heal.  
the tattoo he didn't charge rent.  
the scar that wrote her poem on his skin.  
the wound he forgot to baptize.

he will talk to you with blood in his mouth  
and he will tell you to go. he is mortal.  
he is hercules abandoned on earth. he doesn't  
remember having god's blood, can't taste the  
holy on his tongue. he'll tell you _"save him"_  
but he's already written himself off as a lost  
cause. his words look like a homicide and he's  
telling you to call it. time of death:  
_the moment i was born._

you run. look back and wonder if wounds could  
have been unwritten if you'd never went into  
the woods. sorry for trespassing. sorry i saved  
you once but can't save you now. sorry my  
fist isn't enough this time. i'll find hera  
and kill her for a revenge that was never hers.

your heart is a burial ground. he tells you  
_"dig another grave."_ throw away the shovel.  
desecrate the tombstone. he will not be another  
ghost taking up space in your closet. he is not  
a god today but you're not ready to let him  
be just another obscure constellation you can't  
ever uncover. yeah, you've made plans for that  
heart of his.

he says _"save him"_ but has given up on  
_"save me"_ like a bad habit. doesn't care that  
mount olympus won't welcome him with  
open arms. he just wishes the moon would  
look at him one last time.

hera sharpens her knife on her smile and  
the darkness beckons him closer. this is  
his final act and he's too tired for his closing  
monologue but you'll stand on stage with  
him until the curtains fall like a guillotine.

how do you tell him that he's essential  
like the bees? that his palms are the  
land you want to make your home in?  
that this is a love not meant for the drains?

know that if i don't make it back in time,  
i will subpoena your soul, i will stop  
pleading the fifth when you drop question  
marks after love and your eyes become search parties.  
don't let my father investigate your murder.  
do not let him declare your body a crime scene.  
although god knows caution tape couldn't keep  
me away.

as you turn away, you pray to gods you never believed in  
that you don't learn what the side effects for losing him are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _he is not a god today_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148571818985/wolfsbanepunch-he-is-not-a-god-today)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Arsonist's Lullaby](https://youtu.be/XoQvbDROucQ) \- Hozier


	10. Car Crash Kid

These days I can't sleep so I take my daddy's gun,  
start shooting stars until I'm left wishing on vengeful galaxies.  
These are my hands but they're really earthquakes.  
This is my father's jacket but I know it as my cape.  
My mother grows flowers from her flesh and it's  
the saddest thing I know.  
My mother grows flowers  
and I wish she wasn't a garden.  
My father puts his lips to a bottle because he can't  
put them to his wife or a rifle. And he says, "Son,  
find a love that lasts longer than the gun in your mouth."  
So now I've got a prescription to make me forget  
that my hands come with a tornado warning.  
See, I'm just a child destroying constellations for fun.  
I smash my mirrors because I was told  
never to talk to strangers. I'm just a car crash kid  
dreaming with the brakes cut.  
I've got a lunatic in control of my lungs  
and he's flipping the panic switch, the panic switch  
and don't look at me,  
_don't fucking look at me,_  
it's not my fault I can't breathe right.  
Madness has washed me,  
cleaned the saint from off my freckled skin;  
now I'm a graveyard heart and I can't stop  
digging six feet into the ground.  
Listen, sanity was a girl I once put my lips to  
and then buried in my backyard.  
I took a shovel to her head and I learned that  
when you've got a mouth like murder you've got  
to be careful who you kiss. She left the taste of  
chaos on my tongue and now I've got bomb  
debris for teeth, left me that sharp shrapnel smile.  
These days, I wear my dad's jacket  
but I'm still not a superhero.  
If you take my picture I won't recognize the boy in the photo  
but I'll understand the way his hands are blurred.  
This isn't you.  
This is you.  
I've got no notches on my bedpost  
but I've got tally marks on my bones.  
My father says I've got my mother's eyes  
but he forgets to mention I've got my mother's mind.  
Now these days I can't sleep for  
in the darkness there was a boy and  
in the boy there was a darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _Car Crash Kid_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148571961055)  
Most played song while writing this: [David](https://youtu.be/xyO3cZLN6p0) \- Noah Gundersen  
Also I made an entire playlist based on this poem: [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4HLh8QBWU8BGIQu8iuYru5)


	11. "Mom?"

Mom,  
what did it feel like when your  
brain turned cannibal? When  
your mind began to ingest itself  
ravenous cerebrum, and all your  
thoughts suddenly had teeth?

Mom,  
what was it like when you lost  
your shadow? Did it pack itself  
a suitcase and leave you to raise  
your demons alone? Did you forget  
the shape of your own silhouette?

Mother,  
did the mirror start telling you lies?  
Did you look in the glass and see  
guts and glory and your own hand  
holding your heart like a trophy? Was  
it a victory or a consolation prize?

Mother,  
at night did you turn your bed into  
a battlefield? Did you brandish your  
insomnia like a weapon or did you  
wave your sheet like a white flag  
of surrender and fall prey to war?

Mommy,  
please, when daddy held you did it  
feel like a guillotine caressing your neck?  
Were his fingers like knives trying to  
unzip your skin like a little black dress?  
Did you love your husband or his gun?

Mommy,  
please, I have your eyes and I have your  
mind and when I shake like a leaf is it your  
ghost trying to rock me to sleep? Are you  
the lullaby in my head or do I just need to  
up my dosage again?

Momma,  
if I follow in your footsteps, would you have  
a room waiting for me? Would you tuck me  
into bed and kiss my forehead and tell me  
that monsters are for storybooks and not  
for little boys trying to howl at the moon?

Momma…will you sew my soul back together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _"Mom?"_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148572221545/mom-what-did-it-feel-like-when-your-brain)  
Song on repeat while writing this: [Above the Clouds of Pompeii](https://youtu.be/izph1WByEDA) \- Bear's Den


	12. Greek Tragedy Beneath the Skin

This is a love story  
in very few words:  
_the neurosis of your face at my window_  
_the psychosis of me letting you in every time._  
This is a love story  
in very few words:  
_I touch you and my hand comes away dusty_  
_I kiss you and my lips taste of forgotten bouquets_  
_like springtime exhausted._  
This is a love story  
but once you told me that my  
_I-love-you_'s sounded like a suicide note.  
Once you told me that my name was a coffin  
on your tongue, swallowed down your throat,  
buried in the basement of your body.  
This is a love story  
but that doesn't mean we end it anywhere  
but young, broken, and six feet under.  
After all, there's a Greek tragedy beneath the skin here.  
There's white lilies growing wild in your heart.  
My pulse beats to a funeral march.  
This is leather jackets and empty pill bottles,  
shaking hands and the gift of drowning.  
This is me with  
_"I'm fine"_ branded on my tongue. This is you  
with the devil pulling your strings and you've got  
blood on your hands again.  
This, here, is our story that ends in carving  
_"Yours forever"_  
with claws on our tombstones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _Greek Tragedy Beneath the Skin_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/147566449555/heroicstilinski-this-here-is-our-story-that)  
(I couldn't find my original posting of this poem but I did find an edit someone made for me with my poem on it.)  
Most played song while writing this: [Trouble](https://youtu.be/E_WkzUzbLPw) \- Glowing House  



	13. Brothers Part I and Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal thoughts/ideation

**PART I**  
This tongue cuts like a sword and these hands  
end in bad intentions and body bags.  
O brother, I did not mean to make you bleed.  
I am madness and you are make believe,  
you are the man behind the god and I am  
the boy behind the monster and don't make  
me your anchor, I'll sink you like a stone.  
Brother, I'll take the flare out of your hand but  
let me put a gun to my mouth because I'm both  
the windshield and the body hurtling through it,  
no seatbelt, dead on collision. Don't believe  
them when they tell you it was a quick death.  
I deserve to die long and slow and mad like my  
mother did. Do not blacken your veins for me,  
do not reel the breath out of my throat like a  
fish on a hook. I'm trying to extricate you from  
my crime scene heart, I'm trying to make my  
"I love you's" sound less like a coroner's report.  
I am skin and you are soap but you will never  
wash your blood from off my wrists. We're  
a brotherhood with a foundation built on  
hospital rooms going silent and the sound the  
door makes when our fathers leave. I'm as  
twisted as the knife in your stomach and I'm  
sorry this story ends with your teeth on my  
hip and your tears on my face and my heart  
drumming a funeral march. Don't let guilt  
eat you, it's my fault, because I ate the  
pomegranate, I let him breathe on my wrist,  
I turned my body into an engraved invitation.  
I'm hungry for my own demise so brother,  
feed me.

**PART II**  
This tongue traces prayers and these hands  
end entangled in your own.  
O brother, don't worry, my skin is healed.  
I am animal and you are antidote,  
you are the hero behind the human and I am  
the child behind the courage and you are  
the anchor that keeps my soul from drifting.  
Brother, I dulled your knives, I stole  
your bullets, I'm not going to let you sleep  
beneath dirt just yet. I'm both the airbag and  
the steering wheel and I'll keep you safe on  
the road, shelter you from the glass. There are  
no pallbearers here and do not lock yourself up  
behind bars and bones, do not recite your own  
eulogy like a bedtime story. I am tattooed upon  
your canvas heart, and stop trying to make your  
"I love you's" come out like apologies.  
I am tailor and you are torn and I promise I  
will mend your tattered spirit. We're a  
brotherhood with a foundation built on  
empty lunch tables and the sound of our  
lungs malfunctioning like machines. I'm as  
twisted as the roots of the tree we died for and  
this story ends with your body next to my body,  
your laughter in my ears, and our hearts beating  
in tune to our favorite song playing in your blue  
Jeep. Don't let guilt devour you, because I bit into  
the same pomegranate, I followed you into the  
woods, and I converted my body into a  
weapon and a monstrosity and a curse.  
If you're ravenous for your own end, then brother  
I'll starve you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to _Brothers Part I and Part II_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148572450220)  
Most played song while writing this: [Me](https://youtu.be/Hu0xlyLwK7Q) \- The 1975


	14. An Adage, a Song, a Burn, and a Boy

You were 15 when you loved  
her.  
She was adolescence and  
spearmint and innocence, the  
same flavor as you. Your  
mother would have called her  
an old soul. But your mother  
never knew her. She was your  
first love and you found  
yourself wanting to spill your  
secrets like milk to her.  
She wouldn't have  
cried over them; she  
didn't subscribe to that old  
adage. She was your  
first love but your hand and  
her heart should never have  
been so intimately acquainted.  
Your eyes, blue,  
like your insides.  
Her mouth, red,  
like her outsides.  
The old adage says never cry  
over spilled milk,  
it never said anything about  
spilled blood.

You were 16 when you fucked  
her.  
She was all barbed bombshell  
and Bon Jovi songs, the kind  
that  
teenage boys hear when they  
first touch a woman's skin.  
Your mother would have called  
her a predator. But your  
mother never knew her. She  
was your first fuck and you  
found yourself spilling all your  
secrets like milk into the dips  
and hollows of her  
naked skin. She lapped them up  
like cream and laughed. She  
was your first fuck but your  
family and her inferno should  
never have been so intimately  
acquainted.  
Your eyes, dark, like smoke.  
Her mouth, bright, like flames.  
Jovi singing like a broken  
record  
_"Darling, you give love a bad_  
_name."_

You were 17 when he fucked  
you.  
He was all rebel and leather  
and chipped vase smirks,  
the flavor you wished you were.  
Your mother would have called  
him compensating. But your  
mother was dead. He was the  
first to fuck you and you found  
yourself spilling out moans  
like secrets and milk. You said  
_"harder"_ and he worked his  
body into yours. You said  
_"harder"_ and he colored you in  
bruises and sweat.  
He was the first to fuck you but  
your skin and his cigarette  
should never have been so  
intimately acquainted.  
Your eyes, closed, like caskets.  
His mouth, open, like doors.  
There's a burn, cigarette-  
shaped, on your wrist,  
and it's only a taste of what  
your family felt.

You are 20-something when he  
loves you.  
He is bright eyes, brittle  
bones, and biting words  
wrapped in rapture. Your  
mother would have called him  
a brave soul. But your mother  
and his mother are dead.  
He was the first to love you  
and you found yourself spilling  
out secrets, bitter and rancid,  
like expired milk.  
He didn't cry or laugh, just  
spilled his soul back to you. He  
was the first to love you and  
your heart and his heart were  
meant to be so intimately  
acquainted.  
His eyes, brazen, like the sun.  
Your mouth, curved, like the moon.  
An adage and a song and  
a burn all roll off your tongue  
and he cleans them up.  
He cleans you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still remember when someone messaged me about this poem (because of how I had edited it) to say it was great and to ask what book it was and who the author was. Yet another great Tumblr message I once cherished, gone forever thanks to my lovely idiocy at deleting my Tumblr by accident. 
> 
> Link to _An Adage, a Song, a Burn, and a Boy_: [here](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/post/148572668935/wolfsbanepunch-an-adage-a-song-a-burn-and-a)  
Most played song while writing this: [Build Me Up From Bones](https://youtu.be/X09s37tJ09s) \- Sarah Jarosz

**Author's Note:**

> While I don't anticipate getting many reviews on here because I have stepped back from fandom in recent years, and really haven't dealt with the Teen Wolf fandom since my Tumblr got deleted, I do just want to thank all the people who had sent me messages on Tumblr back when these poems had originally been posted. While I haven't written in years, I will never ever forget to the reception and kindness my writing once got. You were all a writer's dream and it's been 6 years and I know I will never find the words to express my gratitude to all of you who complimented me on my writing. Your words got me through some of the darkest days I could ever have imagined and I truly grew from a shy, timid girl in real life, to someone with a hell of a lot more confidence and fire and it's thanks to the experience the Teen Wolf fandom gave me. So love you all. Thanks for reading, reminiscing, and reviewing. 
> 
> If you want to find me on Tumblr you can find me at [gavinsky.tumblr.com](https://gavinsky.tumblr.com/). Please feel free to hit up my inbox because I used to follow 7,000 blogs when I had my old blog, and I was never able to come even close to reconnecting with all the old people I used to chat with. 
> 
> [END FINAL SCENE ON THE SECOND DRAMATIC RAMBLING MONOLOGUE NO ONE CARES ABOUT]


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